I am undergoing a transformation, spirit/body/mind fusing into a new level of being. Forcing is not the way, but when the time is right, the will acts, and the large knot of past experience which keeps us tied in place, begins to unravel. The end of my marriage, quitting my job, leaving the country, all of these things put an end to a way of life which I loved, but which had come to its conclusion - to continue on the path, when the path is no more, leads to an inauthentic life, and perhaps insanity. Living moment to moment, I adapt with grace and ease, the only chaos being whatever chaos I allow to live inside the mind.
In Asia I was a seeker of freedom and space, talking little, the solitary wanderer with camera and notebook. Now in Oregon, USA, people are within range again, speaking to me daily, learning of my path and what led to it. They share their experience, freely giving kindness and compassion, and lead me to places I could not have reached alone.
I am testing the limits of my new self, trying to hold fast to the freedom I gained, while submitting myself to the new space and time of others. Can I maintain a sense of wholeness, happiness, and love while sharing the tiny space of my life with others? I am willing to risk, confident that it is possible to maintain order within the complexities of new relationships. If things begin to cloud, freedom slowly eroding, I will back up, withdraw into the core of my being, and smile.
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I am renting a room in Portland, in a yellow house with a white door and a woman named Morgan. Morgan paints, maintains a beautiful garden, and has a good library. I borrow books from it, one being "Out Stealing Horses" by Per Petterson. I read in the evenings, after meditating in the backyard meditation hall, laying in bed with the table lamp set on low. Eventually I become drowsy and can no longer make meaning of a sentence, and I read it over and over until I am no longer conscious. Then I dream.
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I run in the mornings. The air is cool and I don't care for it, so I run fast to keep some internal heat going. Today I ran to Tryon Creek, on trails with names of "Cedar" "High Bridge", "North Creek", and "Lewis and Clark". I look up and strain my neck to gaze upon the old and solid Douglas Firs. The hills are many, and I enjoy this, it makes up for the cool air. Up and slow, down and fast, over and over. When I am done I feel strong and walk to the Safeway on Barbur and buy chocolate milk, noodles, and vegetables for the evening meal.
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I dream. Mixtures of past and present create an odd sense of future. Sometimes I am with women, who undress and show me their bodies. When I wake in the morning I can remember the shadows and shapes, and think about sex and how it is always there, lurking, like death - I can try to forget, but it never leaves the room, and eventually I acknowledge it for what it is. I love women and I love life, and how much would I love either if it wasn't for sex and death?
